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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305962">tell me now (what are we supposed to do?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/above_the_fold/pseuds/above_the_fold'>above_the_fold</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>this time tomorrow [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mission: Impossible (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Friendship, Gen, Jealousy, M/M, Pre-Slash, Team as Family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:56:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305962</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/above_the_fold/pseuds/above_the_fold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandt looks exasperated. "They've got fully qualified agents working for them, Ethan. Ilsa Faust wasn't stupid. She knew who she was working for—"</p>
<p>Benji doesn't hear the rest of it; something's just dawned on him. </p>
<p>He narrows his eyes. “Ethan—you’re not thinking of looking for Ils—”</p>
<p>Ethan levels a sharp look at him, but he doesn’t look away. The words tumble out before he can stop himself. </p>
<p>"Let me come with you," he says—and immediately flushes darker. He's not sure if he's asking or telling. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Post-Rogue Nation, title from "Living on a Thin Line" by The Kinks. Definitely pre-slash, Benji/Ethan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benji Dunn &amp; Ethan Hunt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>this time tomorrow [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tell me now (what are we supposed to do?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <span>They go out for a drink the evening of Hunley’s promotion to IMF Secretary. It’s not exactly to celebrate (“the CIA probably thinks they’ve demoted him,” Brandt points out.) The team’s more or less made their peace with him—Benji remains wary (he hasn’t forgotten about the polygraph) and Luther is slow to trust everybody, particularly those who are slow to trust Ethan—but after London, Hunley has undeniably earned their respect. So they raise their first round to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No, Benji thinks as they order a second round, they’re celebrating something different. A change is coming in the IMF: they no longer stand alone, now that they’ve garnered MI6’s attention, and the CIA’s (grudging) respect. It’s a new era. New leadership, new allies. New caliber, mission-wise. He shudders slightly, remembering London, and Lane.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Human nature. My weapon of choice.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’re dealing with absolute madmen, now. Benji wasn’t in the field when Ethan’s team took down Owen Davian, but he remembers </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>particular mission’s fallout—after the honeymoon, there were rumors of retirement from all directions, multiple psych evaluations. Breakdowns and sudden transfers and a scramble for new agents. Benji had taken his field exam within the week. Maybe it started then.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Benji.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks, startled. Ethan’s pulling his hand back. “What’s the matter?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t hold your liquor?” Brandt smirks, and Luther chuckles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve only had a glass,” Benji scoffs, accepting another. “I’m all right,” he adds to Ethan. “Just—thinking, that’s all.” He can tell the older man’s fixing to ask him what about, so he hastily mutters “Cheers, then” and throws back his second glass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ethan looks relaxed, a drink in one hand and the other slapping his thigh as he laughs at something Luther is saying. Brandt is scrolling through something on his phone, ignoring them; it was probably some joke at his expense. Benji watches Ethan—the way the lines around his eyes soften when he laughs, the way he covers his mouth with his free hand until an indignant look from Brandt sets him and Luther off again. His chest gets that warm, heavy feeling he’s frequently had around Ethan the past couple weeks. He should smile more often.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...Benji?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He snaps out of it, embarrassed. Everybody’s staring down the table at him, looking concerned, and he shrugs it off. “Yes—sorry, what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Secretary’s giving us a week off once all the paperwork’s done,” Brandt repeats (did he say so before? Hell if he knows, he wasn’t paying attention.) </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How about that,” Luther mutters, and there’s another toast to be made.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The paperwork,” Ethan says flatly, obligingly raising his glass. “What on Earth do all those desk jockeys do if they don’t handle the paperwork?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>mission,” Brandt says, a bit defensively. Oh, yes, he used to be an analyst. Ethan shrugs and downs his drink. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Benji pulls a face at his own drink. He’s not big into alcohol—to him it all tastes dreadful, and he only came tonight because Ethan insisted. He’d much</span> <span>rather be home catching up on season ten of </span><em><span>Bones </span></em><span>and eating takeout from the Thai place around the corner. But he could be in worse company, he supposes, as he returns Ethan’s knowing smirk.</span> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He refuses a fourth glass and instead nurses an ice water. He’s got to drive home anyhow. “You know, I wonder who they’ll have to replace Hunley,” he says conversationally.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Erika Sloane,” Brandt says. “That’s the unofficial word, at least.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s she?” Luther and Ethan ask together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s even more of a hardass than Hunley,” Brandt says, “but she’s qualified. Fair enough, from what I’ve heard, and she’s interested in working with IMF.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, great.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brandt shrugs, sipping his whiskey. “What’re everybody’s vacation plans?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Luther rubs his jaw. “Man… I was digging the weather in Casablanca. Nice place to retire, I’d wager.” He winks at Ethan, who smirks back over the rim of his glass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Luther!” Benji exclaims, shocked. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> needs to change. “You aren’t thinking about retirement!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But Luther is shaking his head with a laugh. “Maybe once I reach retirement age.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re almost there,” Brandt mutters, and ducks Luther’s swing. “What about you, Benji?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I dunno. I suppose I’ll stay home, catch up on some things.” Sleep and his favorite crime shows, he doesn’t clarify. Vacation is vacation, after all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ethan?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Benji looks quickly at Ethan. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ethan do? He’s never mentioned any family in the past; he and Julia are separated now. And he’s never struck Benji as the kind of guy to sit poolside in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt on vacation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been thinking about going back to London,” Ethan says, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “I want to do a search. See if Lane had any connections to organizations outside the Syndicate.” He smiles crookedly. “Gives me a chance to sightsee.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Benji stiffens; Ethan freezes, blinking at him, then relaxes as he remembers his words. He drops a hand down on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Benji shrugs away after a moment, aware of the flush that’s risen in his face. Ethan thinks he’s upset about Lane—he’s not. He's been around Ethan and the rest of the team near constantly since they arrived home from London—mandatory briefings, lunches at their favorite cafes—and the thought of a week without seeing them turns his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mostly a week without seeing Ethan. And he's talking about going back off to </span>
  <em>
    <span>London? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can open his mouth (though he doesn't quite know what he'll say) Brandt speaks. “Isn’t that MI6’s job now? If Hunley doesn’t authorize—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When have we ever waited for Hunley to authorize anything?” Luther asks, bemused.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't trust MI6. Not yet," Ethan amends swiftly, seeing their puzzled looks. "We can't be sure that there aren't any other Atlees working for them. That's all I'm saying."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"MI6 can handle their own ranks," Luther says gently. "I don't think they'd appreciate you doing their job for them."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brandt looks exasperated. "They've got fully qualified agents working for them, Ethan. Ilsa Faust wasn't stupid. She knew who she was working for—"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Benji doesn't hear the rest of it; something's just dawned on him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He narrows his eyes. “Ethan—you’re not thinking of looking for Ils—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ethan levels a sharp look at him, but he doesn’t look away. The words tumble out before he can stop himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Let me come with you," he says—and immediately flushes darker. He's not sure if he's asking or telling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Luther and Brandt stare. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ethan exhales, tilting his head. "Why," he says, without inflection.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Benji ignores his friends' stares—Luther has a suspiciously knowing look in his eyes—and looks Ethan directly in the face. And lies through his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't trust MI6, either." He forces himself to hold his gaze steady. "I'd like to test this new relationship with IMF. Surely they would welcome our help: it's still a joint mission."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Benji, you're British," Brandt says. "How do you not trust MI6?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're going to spend your </span>
  <em>
    <span>vacation time </span>
  </em>
  <span>tracking down Lane's possible connections," Luther says, only mildly incredulous. Like he expected anything different.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ethan just shrugs, gives nothing away. "I just want to be sure," he says, before turning back to Benji. "Okay." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Benji lets out a breath he hasn't realized he's been holding in. There's no surprised look on Ethan's face; no placating hand raised, like in Vienna. He's learning. Trust is no longer the issue here. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He raises a final glass, smiling slightly at Benji as he toasts with his glass of water. "If you see her, say hi to Ilsa for us," Brandt smirks, and Ethan smiles wider, sheepish, and nods. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ilsa. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It's not trust. It's jealousy. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good fucking luck to anybody out there taking the AP Macro exam today.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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